perituals" by spells and seasons. This, her longest
and most successful inspiration, I now lay before the reader:

SABRA'S SPERITUAL.

We's on de road to Zion,
We's on de paf' to Zion,
But dar's a roarin' lion,
For Satan stops de way.
Oh! lef' us pass, ole Masta,
Oh! lef' us pass, strong Masta,
Oh! lef' us pass, rich Masta--
It am near de break ob day!

We's on de road to Zion,
We's on de paf' to Zion,
But wid his red-hot iron
He bars de hebbenly gate!
Oh! lef' us pass, ole Masta,
Oh! lef' us pass, kin' Masta,
Oh! lef' us pass, sweet Masta,
For we is mighty late!

Does you hear de rain a-fallin'?
Does you hear de prophets callin'?
Does you hear de cherubs squallin'
Wat's settin' on de gate?
Oh! lef us pass, ole Masta,
Oh! step dis side, kin' Masta,
Unbar de do', dear Masta,
We _dar'_ no longer wait!

Does you hear de win' a blowin'?
Does you hear de chickens crowin'?
Does you see de niggars hoein'?
It am de break ob day!
Oh! lef us by, good Masta,
Oh! stan' aside, ole Masta,
Oh! light your lamp, sweet Sabiour,
For we done los' our way!

We'll gib you all our money,
We'll fotch you yams and honey,
We'll fill your pipe wid 'baccer,
An' twiss your tail wid hay!
We'll shod your hoofs wid copper,
We'll knob your horns wid silber,
We'll cook you rice and gopher,
Ef you will clar de way!

He's gwine away, my bredderin,
He's stepped aside, my sisterin,
He's clared de track, my chillun,
Now make de trumpets bray!
We tanks you kindly, Masta,
We gibs you tanks, ole Masta,
You is a buckra Masta,
Whateber white folks say!

CHAPTER XII.

During these last days of my captivity, Mrs. Clayton was truly a piteous
sight to see--swathed in flannel and helpless as an infant, yet still
perversely vigilant as she had been in her hours of health, and
determined on the subject of opiates as before. I sometimes think she
feared to place herself wholly in my hands, as she must have been under
the influence of a powerful anodyne, and that, in spite of her
professions of confidence,